


Margarita

by CC_Writes



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alcohol, Drinking, Fluff, Gift Fic, M/M, Swearing, Unbeta'd, nothing outside the norm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 09:31:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11529462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CC_Writes/pseuds/CC_Writes
Summary: Inspired by a post by RiaTheDreamer on Tumblr.The boys go to Vegas-Quadrant and Simmons is a weird drunk.





	Margarita

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RiaTheDreamer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiaTheDreamer/gifts).



> Inspired by this post by RiaTheDreamer on Tumblr:
> 
> "So I am laughing my ass off. When it is explained how Grif spiked Simmons’ couscous we see him running by really fast, saying something… According to the wiki side, he says:  
> “I sentas hiper kai plenta de enegeria!”  
> (which I suppose is Esperanto. I don’t know; I don’t speak a dead language)  
> HOWEVER (and this is when it gets funny) if you turn on the subtitles on youtube (and I know you can’t trust these at all) he says:  
> “I haven’t been this hyper since the time I had a margarita!”  
> …now I just want a Simmons drinking margarita story. I can’t breathe, this is perfect."
> 
> This fic is unbeta'd but I have gone over it several times, let me know if anything is wrong with it and I'll fix it :) I tried to write it primarily from Simmons' scattered pov so the pacing and phrasing is odd on purpose.

 

  
In retrospect, that probably wasn’t a margarita.

 

Not that Simmons had ever had a margarita.

Not to say of course that he’d never drank before! Because he had! He had! He’d nicked some stuff from his parents when he was in his rebellious teen phase, he’d knocked back a beer or two with Grif when they were off-duty. And on-duty… that one time. ONE TIME! Okay!?…… Okay, more than one. He’d just never had a margarita before now, they were all fruity and stuff, right? And that was associated with girls, right? Or was that martinis? Either way best not to risk it. No reason to purposefully invite mockery and humiliation…

But, yeah… Yeah, that probably wasn’t a margarita, at least not a normal one. Or maybe it was… But Grif had said… He’d said, that since they were here in the Vegas Quadrant they should do something fun, something silly or stupid so they could have a good laugh about it. It had taken a fair bit of whining and several “but _Simmoooons_ "s for him to give in and tell Grif to "just get me whatever.” from the colorful bar. Sure enough, in almost no time at all, the Hawaiian had returned with a nearly picturesque bright red margarita, and a… something, in an overly tall glass, an almost glowing neon blue beverage, topped with different kinds of fruit, including pineapple (because of fucking course), and a red crazy straw. Exactly the sort of thing Surge would never approve of. So in other words, perfect for Grif.

Yeah, in retrospect he probably shouldn’t have trusted anything his teammate had brought him, a little voice reminded him. Not that he was paying attention to it. Like at all. Because yeah. Yeah. He was buzzed.

More than buzzed.

Buzzed was an understatement.

He was fucking HYPER!

“Grif, _Griiiiiiiiiff_!” Oh wow was that whining him? Did he really sound like that? That was hilarious!

Simmons broke into a fit of giggles.

“Grif! Hey, fat-ass!”

“Jesus Simmons, what?” said fat-ass finally answered, failing to hold back his own laughter.

“Let’s go do something!”

Grif grinned, “Like what?”

“I don’t _knooooow!_ ” Simmons warbled, “Just something! Something I can do! ‘Cause, ’m, ‘cause oh my god I’m so charged man!”

“I dun know… I was kind of thinking I’d hit the buffet, then maybe catch some z’s.” That was probably sarcasm, but what if it wasn’t?!

“No!” Simmons gasped, with a scandalized drama that would have made Donut proud, and crouched to match Grif’s eye level.

No, too far. Closer. Wait, no, that was the table. Oh, yeeeeeaaah, they were still in the bar weren’t they? For an all too brief moment of clarity, he realized how stupid he must look, practically kneeling on the likely filthy floor, peering over the edge of the table like a child, pleadingly, at his still seated and probably nowhere near as drunk teammate.

“Grif?” he asked, quietly, an abrupt gearshift from his previous mood. “Grif, am I weird?”

“Absolutely.” came the immediate reply.

The cyborg whined mournfully and looked down at the floor. He’d messed up somehow, hadn’t he? And now he was weird again, and no one would be his friend and he was gonna be all alone and he didn’t know where anything was and he just wanted to go do something! And-

“Hey.” Simmons nearly smacked his face on the edge of the table as he was suddenly pat on the head, “Let’s go,” the red head grinned in delight at his compatriot. “don’t know when you’ll actually want to go do something fun again, better take advantage now.”

“Yes!” Simmons leaped to his feet, oh wow he could just hug Grif! So he did! Kind of. It was closer to falling onto, but with more standing involved. “We can’t do the dukes of hazard thing though, at least I don’t think, cause they’ll get mad. Plus we don’t have a warthog…”

Grif laughed, “Yeah, nah, don’t worry, this is the Vegas Quadrant, there’s plenty of shit to do here.”

“Yeah! Yeah, let’s go do some stuff!”

So they did.

 

There was a comedy show, which was hysterical, Simmons couldn’t remember laughing that hard in a long time. He’d been good too! Like really good, he hadn’t shouted or corrected the comedian at all! Even though he wanted to, his bit about Star Trek had been completely wrong, like utterly wrong. Probably hadn’t even watched the series at all. Poser.

He’d ended up bouncing his leg a lot though, probably too much, cause Grif had noticed, and suggested they go do something that involved walking, but not too much. “Enough so that you don’t explode or something.”

It had taken some pleading and the promise of the existence of benches but Grif finally agreed to the aquarium. Because maybe he was drunk enough to be nostalgic for home? Hawaii had lots of oceans and shit, right? He thought it did. He’d never been to Hawaii. At least Grif seemed to be having fun watching Simmons from the aforementioned benches as he bounced around in front of the large display tanks, babbling out what he knew about the marine life inside. Most of it was probably even true! And didn’t that fish look just like Caboose? A Sail Fish! Or Sale fish? Sael? Sun Fish? Ocean Sunfish? That big stupid one that ate jellyfish and had about as much brain power as a rock. That one.

Grif chose after that, which was really only fair after all, and they ended up in a retro style arcade. The sign on the outside declared that it was an “Adult Arcade” but all this apparently meant was that they served booze inside and had “M” rated fighting games rather than having more… unsavory sorts of things. Something to which Grif voiced a mild displeasure before dragging Simmons to said nearest fighting game.

It was totally the alcohol in his system that made it easy for Grif to wipe the floor with him, he was just too jittery, too hyper. It made it hard to sit still. It was absolutely not because he was total shit at them. Fuck off!

He turned it around at the dancing game though! Which was great because he was pretty sure he also sucked at dancing. Or didn’t. Or was too self-conscious? Or something. Probably was because Grif was too out of shape to dance more than a few songs. But did DDR really count as dancing, really? A mystery that might never be solved…

And there was that crane game too! They got kicked out for that, or well, asked to leave, probably, maybe, hard to tell because he kind of wasn’t paying attention. Cause Grif had snorted at it when they walked by, something about it being a ripoff, and he’d agreed but pointed out that if you knew how to do it you could totally win whatever you wanted, was just all about math and shit, and Grif had said “prove it.” and so he did! Just had to know how to talk to the machine, with math! Cuz see they were sort of related, cause he was part robot… cyborg! He was a cyborg! So yeah! And then Grif just started pointing to all the ones he wanted and so he just kept winning them, and then some guys came over and Grif started arguing with them or something, again, not really paying attention, he was too busy lining up the claw at juuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuust the perfect angle to snag that crazy fluffy pink, (light-ish red) bunny, that totally looked like Donut, maybe, if Donut was a rabbit, but the point was-!

Then they were outside, like outside, and Grif was hefting a bag full of all the stuffed things Simmons had won and grumbling something about the people who owned the place being a “bunch of greedy assholes”. Least they got to keep the prizes. It would have been so sad if they didn’t. How would the Donut Bunny get home to the not Bunny Donut? It was like all those movies with the dogs who get lost and go like a million miles and learn to play piano just to make it home to the little white bread suburban child who loved them.

 

That would be later though because **NOW** , they were in the park, a park, a playground, at like a school or something? Kind of weird, but made sense. People who worked here probably had kids, kids needed to go to school, so they could grow up to be model members of society, and probably alcoholics, who knew way too much about math and how pi worked and shit, and they probably had space dogs too.

Grif was on the swing, one of them, watching as Simmons sort of wobbled along, trying to walk on his hands, he was mostly succeeding, except gravity was all weird so he kept falling over. With a sigh he gave up, well took a break, Reds never surrendered, he told Grif this.

“If you say so dude.” the larger man chuckled, peering downwards at him, swinging slightly back and forth.

Simmons hummed, looking up at the night sky, a few meager stars straining to be seen against the astounding amount of light pollution, head still swimming pleasantly, but the crazy manic energy high or whatever, seemed to be maybe wearing off now. Perhaps? He felt kind of floaty, maybe a bit sleepy? The grass was surprisingly comfortable. For lab designed genetically modified grass anyway. Perfect science grass. Perfect in every way. Not like him though.

The cyborg raised a wobbly metal hand in front of his face, probably too far out, looked like he was maybe trying to grab one of those sad flickering stars, trying so hard to be seen in the sky, not like the grass at all. He told Griff that too.

He got a ' _hum_ ’ in reply.

“Hey… Hey, Griff?” Simmons asked.

“Yeah?”

“I’m a mess…” he blinked slowly in the silence, in a weird sort of way, where it took his artificial eye a few millionths of a second to catch up to the human one or was it the other way around? He probably looked drunk. Probably was drunk, probably. “We’re a mess.” he corrected.

“Yeah, but hey, whatcha gonna do?”

“Fix it?”

Griff burst out laughing, “Like what? Like are you asking me to fix it? Or are you just saying someone should fix it?”

Simmons rolled a little bit more onto his side facing his… his um… “Hey, Grif? Are we-” Teammates? Companions? Buddies? Friends? Lo- “-Losers? Can you fix that?” Fix me?

“I don’t know? I guess you only really 'fix’ that by like practicing things and shit? Too much trouble most of the time. Sometimes you just stay a loser no matter what you do. But who cares? If you’re a loser you don’t gotta do shit, no one expects anything of you so you never get asked to do things you don’t want to do. Better that way.” Grif said, somehow forming a suitable answer to what would not have passed as an actual question in most circles. Which they were not.

“Am I boring?”

“Nah, only like… 40% of the time.”

Simmons grinned stupidly, “Oh good, that’s less than half!”

A comfortable silence fell over them for a couple of minutes.

“Grif?”

“Yes?”

“I had fun.”

“Good.”

“I’ll probably be mortified tomorrow though. We can never go back here, you know that right?”

Grif snorted, “We? Not just you?”

Simmons’ brow furrowed, “As though you’d ever come here without me. You totally won’t ever go alone, and who else would you take?”

“Tucker?” Griff offered seriously, before immediately breaking the facade at Simmons’ baleful glare laughing, and really wasn’t that just the best sound? “Fuck, who am I kidding? Tucker is an asshole.” He made a face, “And weirdly into my sex life, really into it, it’s creepy, weird as fuck.”

“ _I know_ _riiiiiight_?” Simmons warbled, Tucker was so fucking weird, probably morally bipolar with how he seemed to flit back and forth between attempting to be a decent guy and a literal pile of trash. And he knew being bipolar didn’t work that way! It was a metaphor okay!? He was drunk alright?! Though less so now maybe, drunk enough to know he was drunk.

“Oi, are you falling asleep down there?” Grif called down to Simmons after a couple of unresponsive minutes.

“No.” Simmons tittered back, “Might not be so bad though, grass is comfy.” he frowned, scrunching his face in a way that might have been cute if it was on a child and not a full grown man. “I think I’m starting to crash…” He tried to roll over again and only partially succeeded, arms flopped oddly in front of and behind him, “I’m so fucked _uuuup_.”

He heard the rattle of a chain and then saw the slightly blurred shape of Grif’s shoes in front of him.

“I’ve known that since the literal second I met you dude.” the shoes’ owner snickered, crouching down a bit to poke his teammate’s head with a finger, “No passing out, if you’re gonna do that then we’re going back to the hotel. Probably should anyway, I think it’s like 4 am.”

“4 am? I’ve only heard about that in hushed whispers and legends!” Simmons said with a dopey grin, earlier melancholy forgotten. He tried to sit up but instead flopped a bit on the grass while Grif continued to laugh at him.

He squinted again, this time at the semi blurry image of his teammate, not like, 'I can’t tell what that is any more’ level of blur, but like, '60’s sci-fi Vaseline on lens’ kind of blurry. Was oddly pleasing, in an aesthetic sort of way. Word salad sort of way. Train of thought sort of way. That lead to other thoughts, and other trains, that went to places he wasn’t really sure he wanted to think about at the moment. Mostly because he couldn’t remember where he was going with that.

“Grif. Be my legs.”

“No.”

“But I gave you my _leeeeeeeeeeg_ , and my lungs, and an arm, and most of my other organs and some skin.” He gave Grif a far too serious and also far too stupid glare, “Grif.” he said, like a revelation, like an accusation, “I gave you my **heart**.” How **DARE** you, Sir!

It took about five seconds of awkward and yet somehow hysterical silence before they both burst out laughing. Laughing so hard that Grif was actually holding his sides and gasping “It hurts it hurts!” while Simmons made noises that to an outside view probably sounded a bit disturbing as his artificial lungs (or the assortment of crap that passed for them) tried to figure out what their owner wanted them to do.

“Okay, okay you win. I can’t argue with that.” Griff finally managed to choke out, swaying a bit up to his feet, reaching out to grab Simmons hand and haul him up. “I’m not carrying you though, you can lean on me but that’s it.”

Simmons wobbled dangerously, vision fucking off with his sense of balance for a moment when he suddenly became upright.

“I agree to these terms.” he said dramatically, somewhat flinging himself into the offered arm, tossing his own over Grif’s shoulders as gravity gave a valiant but thankfully futile attempt at taking him down again.

“Okay, so now we just gotta make it a couple blocks, I think, to the main road, then we can get a cab. Cause fuck if we’re walking to the hotel.”

“Oh my god Grif what if we get mugged!” Simmons suddenly gasped, causing them both to sway until Grif directed him back into walking in the right direction.

“No one is gonna mug us dude,” Grif lightly shook the bag of prizes Simmons had 100% forgotten about, “Bunch of stuffed animals? We probably look weird as hell. Probably get arrested more like if they found us at the playground.”

“Noooo,” Simmons wailed dramatically, flinging his free arm around Grif, allowing his feet to drag, “Griff no, I don’t wanna go to _jaaaail_.”

“We’re not going to jail either man, chill.” his teammate chided, aww, not funny then,  “And let go, this is dangerously close to carrying, I will drop you.”

“You suck.”

“You suck.”

“Suck Dick!”

“…What?”

“You heard- nothing! You heard me.”

Grif raised a thick eyebrow but didn’t comment further, which really was for the best.

 

It didn’t take long to get a cab once they got back to a busier part of town, at least Simmons didn’t remember it taking long, but who was he to say? He’d been right before about crashing, all the manic energy he’d had before was gone at this point, and he was all but out like a light when Grif finally got the door to their room open.

He managed to make it to the nearest bed without planting face first into the floor. Small mercies.

“Oi!” he dimly heard from the doorway as he plopped onto the mattress, “That’s my bed man, I called it when we got here.”

“Don’t care,” was the muffled response, “Go sleep in the other one. ’m tired…”

“No way, I called dibs, you think I won’t just sleep there any way you’re fucking wrong.”

“Don’t care.”

Simmons distantly felt the mattress move as Grif made good on his word and flopped down on the other side of the bed. Really though, who cared? The bed was big enough. One nice thing about military paid vacations, first class, all the way.  

“Wow, you’re really out of it huh?”

“Mmmm hmm…” Oh, before he forgot.

“Grif?”

“I’m not moving dude, this is my bed.”

“No, no, no.” He mumbled, “Need a favor.”

“Oh careful what you ask for, might cost you.” he could practically hear the grin in Grif’s voice

“That’s fine,” Simmons replied, wouldn’t be that bad Grif was mostly just talk, probably want like a box of hohos or something, “See that?” he limply flung a hand in the general direction of where he assumed Grif had put the bag of prizes.

“The lamp…?” Grif asked in confusion, “it’s already off man, what you need it on? Scared of the dark?”

“No,” Simmons flopped his other arm, “The bunny. Pink one.”

“What about it?”

“Mail that to Donut in the morning for me.”

“And I have to do it because?”

“Because sober me won’t do it. You know how Donut can get, so I won’t do it, but I still think he’d like it.”

“Yeah, he wouldn’t.” Grif agreed, “But I don’t want Donut thinking it’s from me either.”

“No, you can put my name on it, just know I’ll wuss out on mailing it back. Don’t want people to think things.”

Probably another eyebrow raise, “Things?”

“Embarrassing things… Don’t want people thinking I’m weird.”

“Uh, huh… Well if that’s what you want. I’ll think of a way you can pay me back later unless you freaking out afterward is funny enough.

Simmons grunted softly as he felt a friendly pat on his back, burrowing his face into the pillow. “’S fair.”

He yawned, hearing Grif’s own not long after.

“…Hey, Grif…?”

“… Yeah…?”

“I had fun.”

“Me too.”

“Night Grif."

“Night.”

 

**END**

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed reading, I don't normally write fanfic, I'm easily embarrassed ^^0, but I'm trying to be less so. Let me know what you thought and if you want me to write any more about these silly boys!


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